At The Coming Of Autumn

By Kate Camp

I seal up all the windows and doors
plug holes, and smoke out the mice.

I prepare the surfaces of things for coming snow;
the apple I shine to a dangerous gloss
and in my roof arm spiders with tiny forks
that this winter they may eat in a civilised fashion.

To the neighbours I say, silence your machines,
wash your children, kiss goodbye your failings
we enter this death together
without those rusted anchors.

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